A Place of Birds

by Jane Jackson

  Meredith’s transformation had been instant and miraculous. ‘Thank you. Thank you both so much,’ she had whispered as Lucy settled her down between fresh sheets and Susanna collected up the soiled towels and linen. The smile lighting her blotched haggard face had been as sweet and trusting as a child’s as her swollen eyelids closed. Within seconds she had been deeply asleep.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Lucy pushed her plate away. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to excuse me.’ She made a brave attempt to smile. ‘What with one thing and another … Goodnight.’

  Susanna watched as Lowell half-rose then resumed his seat. He had shaved and made an effort to tidy his thick unkempt hair with water and a comb, but there was still an untamed air about him. With so many questions still unanswered and every hour bringing them closer to Anqing her nerves were as taut as the mast stays.

  ‘I did love Marjorie,’ he said quietly, ‘once, a long time ago. Those other women …’ he sighed in despair. ‘How can I expect you to understand? You’re too young –’

  ‘I know how it feels to be lonely.’

  He stared at her, his black brows drawn down, conflict visible on his harsh features. ‘I don’t want to lose you.’

  She caught her breath. ‘Lowell, you shouldn’t –’

  ‘I know.’ He raked a hand through his hair. ‘But I can’t – I won’t – go on like this. An annulment will bring the whole wretched charade to an end.’

  ‘And your wife? What will happen to her?’

  ‘Why should I care?’ He prowled the cabin like a caged tiger. ‘When did she give a thought to what all this was doing to me?’

  ‘You never told me why she … What happened to make her the way she is?’

  His back to her he drew a deep shuddering breath. ‘She was brutalised by her father.’

  ‘He beat her? Oh, the poor –’

  ‘No, Susanna.’ Lowell swung round, weariness and torment stark on his face. ‘He used her as if she were his wife.’

  Susanna’s hands flew to her mouth.

  Lowell rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I didn’t know. She never told me. I only found out last week.’

  Susanna clasped her hands together on the table. ‘I am very new to Shanghai but I’ve already seen and heard enough to know that great weight is attached to the way things look. Reality and truth are far less important than appearances. As your wife Marjorie enjoys a certain status. Not only would she lose that, an annulment would make her failure a matter of public record.’

  ‘What makes you so sure people would think she –’

  ‘Oh come, Lowell. Who is going to believe, even for a moment, that the fault might lie with you?’ She flushed. ‘Too many ladies in Shanghai know differently. Can you imagine what Lady Wilbury and her friends would make of it? They’d destroy her.’ Digging her nails into her palms Susanna forced the words out. ‘You can’t do it.’

  ‘I see.’ The look on his face was devastating.

  ‘No, Lowell, wait …’ But he had gone, his boots clanging on the brass stairs.

  Leaving the women aboard the anchored schooner and arming the crew on watch, Lowell was rowed ashore in the jolly-boat. Below the slum shacks crowded together a short distance above the water, pigs snuffled and rooted feeding on whatever was thrown from the mean dwellings.

  ‘Come back in two hours,’ he instructed the seaman. As the row-boat returned to the ship he threaded his way between fishing boats pulled up on the steep shingle beach. Paved with stone slabs the main street was barely eight feet wide and restricted even further by stalls set up in front of shops. The houses were built of soft-looking grey brick. Roofed with bamboo and rice straw they had very wide eaves which offered protection from both monsoon rain and searing sun.

  The street was busy but as usual he saw very few women. Even the poorest families tried to improve the marriage prospects of their daughters by binding their feet. But this deformity, so highly prized among men, made walking almost impossible.

  In shirtsleeves, a Colt revolver at his waist, Lowell made his way past men pulling heavily laden wheelbarrows, and others with huge loads on their bent backs. Labourers crowded around a food stand, shovelling strips of frizzled pork and stir-fried cabbage into already bulging cheeks. The odour of garlic and hot oil was heavy on the humid air.

  Calling to one of the vendors in his own dialect Lowell asked where he would find the CIM mission. The man shook his head. Some of the men at the stall looked over their shoulders, exchanged brief glances, then returned to their eating. Accustomed to Chinese inscrutability Lowell detected wariness and felt new tension in his gut.

  Mopping the sweat from his forehead and neck he walked on up the street, passing stalls piled with cabbages, purple aubergines, carrots, soy beans, and onions. There were shops selling paper lanterns and incense sticks, cotton cloth dyed indigo, parcels of tea in oiled paper, sacks of salt, rice, earthenware pots, and thick felt. Shoemakers and tailors worked in open doorways or on the street. Everything bought or sold was haggled over. The noise was deafening.

  Many of the shops had wicker or bamboo cages hanging outside their doors. As he drew level with one the bird inside began to sing. The linnet was small and brown, its plumage dowdy. But the notes pouring from its tiny throat were pure and clear and melodious. Gazing at the little bird he forgot the noise and smells and hustle, and thought of Susanna.

  Forcing aside the tempting torturing image he strode on; past a man skinning eels, his arms and legs splattered with blood; past the barber who carried his stool, towel and razor with him and shaved his customers wherever there was space to stop.

  Turning up an alley he emerged onto a street of better quality houses owned by merchants dealing in tobacco, silk, tea and opium. Beyond them was the Catholic mission. And a pile of blackened ruins.

  ‘You know what these mobs are like,’ the elderly priest shook his head sadly. Beneath a black cassock that flapped in the breeze his lanky frame was stooped with age and disillusion. The fine red veins mottling his aquiline nose and thin cheeks revealed comfort sought from a bottle rather than prayer. ‘Who knows what caused it this time? It takes so little,’ he spread tremulous hands, ‘a rumour, the weather. They took everything they could carry, and destroyed the rest. But at least they left the building intact.’ Sighing, he indicated the burned rubble. ‘As you see, the CIM was not so fortunate. No one was hurt, thank God. Hudson Taylor left some weeks ago for Hangchow.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Lowell turned to leave, then stopped. ‘How far is it to the gold diggings?’

  ‘Not far, perhaps a couple of miles down the coast.’ With his pale, crepey neck, bald head, and faded black cassock, the priest resembled an elderly vulture. He peered at Lowell through watery eyes. ‘You don’t have the look of a prospector.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m delivering a message.’

  The priest nodded. ‘Before you go all the way out to the claims, try Murphy’s bar.’ As Lowell’s brows rose the priest explained. ‘Jack Murphy is an ex-navy gunner who managed to get left behind after the Taiping Rebellion. He was one of the first prospectors up here. But when he realised there are few places up-river a man can get a decent drink he hired someone else to work his claim and took a house down on the waterfront.’

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  ‘Lower side, the far end. He had a delivery a few days ago. Word will have reached the diggings by now. Chances are you’ll find your man there.’

  Taking a couple of Mexican dollars from his pocket Lowell pressed them into the priest’s bony hand as he shook it.

  ‘Bless you, my son.’

  Lowell didn’t recognise his brother. The golden hair, bleached almost white by fierce sun, was tied back with a ragged strip of blue cotton cloth. Physical labour had transformed pale flabby flesh into lean brown muscle. Dressed in a fraying shirt and worn trousers he sat astride a narrow bench rolling dice on the wooden table. Two more Europeans watched, slapping the table and arguing. A big burly man with tangled bl
ack curls wearing a faded red shirt stood behind a counter.

  As Lowell approached he lowered the glass he was polishing. A puckered scar ran from beneath his left eye across his broken nose to his right ear.

  ‘Look your fill, mister,’ Jack Murphy’s gaze was level and fearless. ‘See what a chain will do.’

  ‘And the man holding it?’ Lowell enquired dryly.

  ‘Ah, well, now,’ Murphy grinned, exposing blackened teeth. ‘I’ve a suspicion I tore his arm off.’

  While they were talking the man on the bench had turned. Now he stood up. ‘Why are you here?’

  It wasn’t until he met the brilliant blue eyes that Lowell knew. ‘John?’

  ‘Have I changed so much?’

  Lowell threw several silver coins on the wooden counter. ‘A drink for everyone, Mr Murphy.’ Seating himself onto the narrow bench he waited. After a moment John joined him. The other two men moved tactfully away and leaned on the counter, talking.

  Lowell glanced up, nodding at Murphy as he set two glasses of whisky in front of them. ‘I didn’t expect to find you so easily.’

  ‘Why have you come?’

  ‘Father asked me to. I have other business upriver so it wasn’t out of my way.’

  Cradling the glass between his hands, John stared at it. ‘What does he want?’

  ‘He’s dying. If you go back the company’s yours.’

  Tossing the liquor to the back of his throat John swallowed. ‘What about you?’

  Lowell shrugged. He sipped his whisky, surprised to find it was of good quality. He raised the glass in brief salute to Murphy who winked. ‘I promised I’d give you the message.’

  ‘That’s all? You get nothing?’ As Lowell shook his head he sensed the tension leave his brother. ‘The old bastard.’ After gazing into the glass John pushed it away. ‘I’ve found gold, you know. Mostly dust, but a few nuggets. Enough to make it worthwhile. And I’ve got a woman.’ He glanced up, unable to contain his curiosity. ‘What happens to the company if I don’t go back?’

  Lowell took another sip. ‘He’s threatened to leave it all to me.’ They looked at one another for a long moment.

  ‘And you came anyway? The bastard,’ John whispered. ‘Take it with my blessing, brother. And tell him … Tell him he chose his life. Now I’ve chosen mine.’ He stood up. Lowell followed.

  ‘You’re sure about this?’

  John nodded. ‘I’m sure.’ He held out a scarred and callused hand. ‘Have a good life. And if you’re up this way again …’ he shrugged. ‘Maybe I’ll be here, maybe not.’

  Lowell gripped his brother’s hand. ‘I’m glad for you, John. Good luck.’

  As he crossed the shingle to where the row-boat waited, he could still hear his brother’s farewell. ‘Go back to that rat’s nest, Lowell, and it’s you who’ll need luck.’

  Chapter Thirty

  As Lucy wrung her hands, Susanna put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

  ‘I’m sorry. But you cannot stay here.’ Lowell turned to Tom Binney. ‘Raise the hook and get under way as soon as possible.’

  Tom blinked. ‘The ladies aren’t leaving then?’

  ‘There’s nowhere for them to go.’ Lowell’s gaze met Susanna’s. ‘The mission has been burned down.’

  With a brief grimace Tom hurried forward, his shouts galvanising the crew into action.

  Lowell turned to Lucy. ‘My next stop is Kewkiang. I’m carrying freight for Christopher Ellis, the British consul. You can rest there for a few days while I go on upriver to collect a cargo of silk. Then I’ll take you back to Chinkiang and arrange a passage down the Grand Canal to the CIM mission at Hangchow.’

  ‘You dear man.’ Lucy grasped his arm, pink with gratitude. ‘Your kindness is more than we deserve. I fear we have put you to enormous trouble.’

  ‘Not at all.’ As his eyes flicked to hers Susanna felt tingling warmth spread from her toes to the top of her head.

  Lucy braced herself. ‘I’d better go and break the news to my sister.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Susanna volunteered, guiltily relieved that her parting from Lowell had been postponed. So much still needed to be explained and discussed.

  ‘No,’ Lucy patted her hand. ‘It’ll better if she and I are alone when I tell her.’

  Watching her start down the companionway, Susanna turned to Lowell. ‘I –’

  ‘Later,’ he murmured. ‘Right now I must –’

  ‘You may be too busy later,’ she whispered urgently. ‘I only wanted to say …’ she screwed up her courage. ‘My sympathy for your wife’s position is quite separate from … my … my great regard for you.’ She pressed one palm to a crimson cheek. ‘I just wanted you to know. You appeared to believe … I couldn’t let you think … You can go now.’ With a shy sideways glance she saw the bleakness fade from his grey eyes.

  ‘Damn it, girl,’ he grated, ‘you certainly choose your moments.’ Glowering with frustration, he strode away.

  Leaning on the gunwale Susanna gazed at the water as the crew hauled rhythmically on the halyards. Despite the heat and humidity of the afternoon Meredith’s cry of despair made her shiver.

  Closing her journal Susanna slid along the padded seat to make room at the table. ‘How is she?’

  ‘Resting quietly.’

  ‘Have you given her –?’

  ‘It seemed the kindest thing to do. She’s suffering so.’ Sitting down Lucy rested her elbows on the table and covered her face with both hands. ‘She talked about our childhood, about Mother and Father, and all the plans we had for our lives. She believes her whole life has been a failure.’ Lucy raised beseeching eyes. ‘How can I make her see that’s not true?’

  The door opened and John-Henry backed in with a loaded tray. ‘I want all this eaten,’ he warned, unloading plates and dishes onto the table. ‘These last few days ’aven’t been the best of times for you ladies. You got to keep your strength up. All right?’

  Despite being perilously close to tears, the contrast between his unsavoury appearance and mother-hen manner made Susanna giggle. Lucy, who had had little to do with him, simply gaped.

  ‘Get on with it then,’ he chivvied.

  ‘Stop your bullying,’ Lowell growled as he entered the cabin.

  Tucking the tray under his arm John-Henry tutted as he stumped out.

  During the night a squall lashed the muddy torrent to a fury and Meredith was sick again. Straightening up from the tin bath, a pile of clean washing on the hatch beside her, Susanna wiped her sweating forehead with the back of her hand. She glanced at the crewmen raising the topsails and marvelled at their stamina.

  Rags of dark cloud with luminous edges moved with slow menace across a brassy sky. The sweltering heat and muggy air threatened another storm. After hanging the linen over a line one of the men had rigged for her, she stopped for a moment to look at the magnificent scenery.

  Yesterday there had been low hills. Today there were mountains topped by stunted pines and firs. On the lower slopes she could see chestnut trees and oaks, tall stands of bamboo and giant ferns. Exotic blooms made splashes of red, orange and white amid the vivid green.

  To her left the river suddenly opened into a wide canyon of towering cliffs topped by giant trees. It must be the entrance to Poyang Lake. Lowell had showed her on the chart but she could remember little of what he’d said, aware only of him next to her, so close, so careful not to touch.

  Approaching Kewkiang the helmsman steered carefully between countless junks, cargo boats, lorchas and bamboo rafts. On either side of the town and the hills behind every bit of land capable of cultivation bore a crop of some sort. At one end close to an inlet a small fleet of narrow, shallow craft drifted. Each contained one man and several large black birds. More birds bobbed on the water. Every few moments one would dive, popping up again seconds later with a large fish in its long bill which the man would lean over and take.

  ‘They’re cormorants.’ Lowell came to stand behind her.
‘Each fisherman has a dozen or so. A ring around the bird’s throat stops it swallowing the fish. But when the morning’s work is finished, the rings are removed and they eat their fill.’

  Acutely conscious of his nearness she tried desperately to concentrate, pointing at great swathes of broken masonry. ‘What happened?’

  ‘The Taiping Rebellion. The town was totally destroyed.’

  Above the shacks crowded together on the rubble between the river and the terraced fields stood several new houses. Enclosed within high walls they had curved roofs of red tiles and were surrounded by tree-shaded gardens. Paved paths meandered between carefully tended flowerbeds ablaze with colour. These oases of opulence looked out of place amid so much abject poverty.

  ‘The prefect has ordered a six-mile long wall erected around the town to prevent such an invasion being repeated.’

  A nuance in his tone made Susanna glance round. ‘You don’t think it will be effective?’

  ‘It will certainly deter attacks from outside.’ He motioned her forward. ‘Come, Tom has found transport for you.’

  ‘Look at the cherry blossom,’ Lucy marvelled. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’

  ‘It’s too hot,’ Meredith whined. ‘I don’t feel well.’

  ‘Try to be brave, dear. We’re nearly there. Once we reach the consulate –’

  ‘I need my medicine, Lucy.’

  ‘I know, but it affects your balance then you find it difficult to walk. You shall have it as soon as we reach the consulate, I promise.’

  Startled to see Oliver Lockhead, the bosun, and two Abs, all armed with rifles waiting at the end of the gangplank, Susanna moved quickly to help her cousins. The transport turned out to be a kind of sedan chair slung between two poles and carried on the shoulders of two Chinese. Once inside with the door closed the passenger could not be seen but was able look out through a slit at eye level roughly a foot wide and six inches deep.

  As Lowell assisted Meredith and Lucy into their chairs Susanna heard shouting. She looked round. But before she could see what the trouble was Lowell grasped her arm and hustled her to her own chair.